


The Helpful Ghost

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide Notes, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: When Mycroft moves into an old family home, Reginald, the resident ghost, sees how lonely he is and intervenes.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 33
Kudos: 160
Collections: Spooky Johnlock Collection





	The Helpful Ghost

Reginald had been dead a long time. While he couldn’t leave the grounds of the house, he’d seen something of the passing of the years through the families that had lived here and then later, the guests that passed through it. He knew that the world had changed a lot since his own life.

He didn’t remember his own death anymore. He’d figured out along the way that the longer one lingered in between worlds, the less tethered one became. While there’d been any number of deaths in the house since his own, all the others had quickly passed on through a door he couldn’t see or touch or feel, leaving him alone.

Reginald long ago stopped seeking that escape. It seemed he was trapped here, and there was no point in making a fuss. The family that owned the house knew his name from somewhere in their history and that made him feel a little better, but they didn’t seem to know anything beyond that.

It was fine, really. Reginald had watched children grow and move on, one of them inevitably coming back to take possession of the house after their own parents were gone. The last couple of decades the owners had regularly rented out rooms as some sort of hotel. But they’d never had children and in truth Reginald was a little worried about losing his connection to the family that had always been here. He didn’t know what would happen if that connection was severed.

So it was with some relief that he saw the keys handed over to a red-headed man he instinctively knew was kin. A distant cousin, apparently, but one he was certain had roamed these halls on occasion as a child.

**

Mycroft accepted his keys and an awkward hug from his cousin. “We’re glad you’re taking it,” said Marie. “It wouldn’t feel right to pass it on to someone not in the family.”

Giving her a thin smile, Mycroft nodded. “I’m glad you reached out to me. I was looking for something a bit outside the city anyway.”

“A fortuitous coincidence,” smiled Marie brightly. “I know you’re going to turn it back into a single family home and do some renovations. Reginald might be a bit annoyed with it, but I’m sure he’ll settle in.”

Mycroft bit back a sigh. He’d heard stories about the family ghost every time he’d stayed here as a child. But of course there was no such thing. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I’ll send pictures.”

“Please do.”

Mycroft walked her to the door, then turned and looked at the house. From the foyer the house opened into a small front room with stairs leading to the second floor. It was actually a bit smaller than his current home, but that was fine by him. Lately his current house had been feeling a bit cavernous. This place had a bit more land around it, but the house itself was cozy. It would take some work to turn it back into a family residence, and no doubt he'd have to deal with any number of disappointed people that had wanted to stay here again, but he was certain it would be worth it in the end.

He walked through the rooms, remembering the house as it had been when he was a child, before it had been turned into a bed and breakfast. He climbed the stairs, letting his hand trail along the railing, shivering as he felt a sudden cold chill. Looking around, he saw nothing and continued on his tour.

**

The man's name was Mycroft, Reginald soon learned. He hid himself in the attic while the house swarmed with workmen, feeling unsettled in his bones as they set up about updating the wiring and installing all sorts of cables and other things behind the walls. 

He quickly discovered that one of those things was cameras. While there had been a camera on the front of the house for a couple of years, the ones inside were new. Reginald had learned some time ago that he could sort of scrunch himself up and slip between the walls to look through the front camera. He'd taken to sometimes just watching people and traffic pass in front of the house, idly wondering about their lives.

Mycroft came to see the house a few times as the people worked on it. Reginald found himself curious about the man. Though he was keeping a few bedrooms on the second floor he evidently had no family of his own. He was handsome, in his own way (Reginald was dead, not blind), but he certainly seemed to keep everyone at arms length, save perhaps the woman that was apparently his secretary in some capacity.

At last the work wrapped up and furniture and Mycroft's belongings started being moved in. Late one night Reginald walked through the halls, inspecting the rooms, picking up a small globe that was on the desk in the study and examining it for a moment before putting it down again. He'd heard that Mycroft would be fully moving in in the morning. Now the truly interesting time would begin.

**

Mycroft took a breath as he opened the door. He'd had the place restored to roughly a Victorian style, though hopefully with less deadly wallpaper. And it had a thoroughly up to date security system.

He walked into his study on the ground floor and smiled at the floor to ceiling bookcases. This did feel like home. He turned his attention to the desk and his smile dropped as he noticed the globe had been moved. Well, maybe one of the workmen had bumped it on the way out.

**

Reginald watched Mycroft as he made himself at home. It was a bit strange to have only one person in the house after so many years of people constantly being in and out. He didn't even have company over except his secretary on rare occasions. Every morning he would leave early and then return sometimes late at night. Clearly whatever his job was, it wore on him.

There was a housecleaner a few times a week, but she always came and went quickly, sometimes muttering to herself. Reginald wondered if she could feel his presence, but since he didn't want to bother her, he generally took himself up to the attic again while she worked.

He was a little amused to realize that Mycroft noticed whenever anything was moved. He didn't set out to annoy the man, and he didn't always do it on purpose, but sometimes he'd bump a book in the study or knock Mycroft's reading glasses off the nightstand. Mycroft always looked around, then would grumble to himself and put it back.

**

There was another book on the floor of the study. Mycroft frowned and picked it up, then went to his computer and pulled up the security footage. It was a small thing, probably nothing, but he'd built his career on noticing the details.

He pulled up the security footage and scrolled back through the day's footage. Maddeningly all he saw was that the book had been sitting on the shelf, perhaps sticking out a bit, and then, apparently of its own volition, it had dropped to the floor. 

Mycroft scrubbed his hand through his hair. It didn't make sense. In the back of his mind he remembered the stories about Reginald. Poppycock. Ghosts didn't exist.

He jumped as he thought he felt something behind him, but when he turned he was alone. He shivered at a sudden chill. Drafty old houses. Clearly what he needed was a drink and a hot bath.

**

Reginald watched him throw back his scotch and put down the glass on the mantle. Mycroft straightened his clothes and headed up the stairs. 

Shrugging, Reginald walked over and put the glass back next to the decanter. Mycroft needed a hobby or something, that much was clear. He wondered what, if anything, he could do.

Hearing the water running in Mycroft's bathroom, Reginald went back up to the attic. Since no one ever came up here it had become his retreat. There was a set of stairs that had to be pulled down to access it if one wasn't a ghost, and over the years a large collection of old trunks and boxes had accumulated and gathered dust. Even the workmen who had redone the house had only come up here long enough to run a few more of their wires and check the roof before quickly leaving again.

Reginald picked up a long-discarded toy and walked over to the single window. He fidgeted with it as he thought. He wasn't very good at dealing with living people, but it seemed like maybe the home's current owner wasn't either. 

He remembered the man's mobile phone. If he could scrunch himself up enough to get into the cameras, maybe he could get into the phone. There was a way to send messages; he'd seen the houseguests do that a lot the last few years. Surely there had to be someone he could contact and pretend to be Mycroft.

Slipping back down the stairs, Reginald scrunched himself up and slipped into the mobile on the nightstand. There weren't all that many contacts in the man's phone, and most of them seemed work-related. But there was one that had a picture attached to it. The man was certainly handsome enough that Reginald could see why. 

He slipped out of the phone again, knocking it to the floor as he did so. Tonight wasn't a good time, but soon.

**

Things moving around continued, just often enough for Mycroft to wonder if his job was finally getting to him. But the security cameras always showed the things moving on their own, even if he couldn't fathom why.

This particular evening he was actually home at a reasonable hour. He ordered takeaway and dropped his phone on the side table, rubbing his eyes.

There was a clatter as the phone dropped to the floor. Mycroft opened his eyes and looked down at it, then slowly picked it up and put it back on the table.

He was flipping through channels when, of all things, his doorbell rang. And it was too soon for the takeaway.

Blinking a few times, Mycroft grabbed his phone and pulled up the front door camera. Lestrade was on his doorstep, looking a little anxious. He didn't even know Lestrade had this address. He'd done his best to keep Sherlock from learning it.

Hoping it wasn't anything bad about his brother, Mycroft put the phone down and hurried to answer the door. "Good evening," he said politely.

Lestrade gave him a smile. "You asked me to come over?" he said.

Mycroft blinked a few more times. "I did?"

Lestrade held up his mobile. "You texted me."

"Ah. Well, come in," said Mycroft stepping aside so he could.

"Nice place," he said, looking around, then cocking his head at Mycroft. "You didn't text me?"

"I apologize, Inspector, but I don't think I did."

"Greg. I'm off the clock."

"Greg. Sorry." Mycroft went back to the sofa and picked up his mobile again. 

Greg visibly shivered. "Bit chilly in here."

"It's an old house," said Mycroft absently, going over to his messages and finding that, indeed, there was an invitation and his address as his last sent message. He looked up at Greg. "Well, since apparently my mobile has a mind of its own, care to join me for dinner?"

"It's not putting you out, is it?"

"We might be forced to share dessert, but no, it's fine." Mycroft found himself meeting Greg's smile with one of his own.

**

Reginald left them alone, feeling rather pleased with himself, though eventually his curiosity got the better of him and he went to peer through the camera. 

It was getting late, but Greg and Mycroft were still sitting together on the sofa, chatting, empty cartons on the table in front of them with an open bottle of wine.

Reginald slipped back up to the attic, feeling warm. He'd always tried to help where he could, but this was the boldest action he'd ever done. He had a good feeling about where this could lead.

**

Mycroft was surprised to find himself inviting Greg over more and more over the next weeks. Of course, the Inspector was devilishly handsome (he was aloof, not blind), but he'd never imagined that he might be interested in him as a friend, at least, if not something more.

The first time Greg kissed him it was as he was saying goodnight on the doorstep. Greg looked a little flustered, as if he wasn't quite sure how Mycroft would take it, then Mycroft had kissed him back and neither of them noticed the small statue in the foyer moved a quarter-inch out of place.

**

Reginald continued to watch Mycroft and Greg as their relationship developed. It made him happy in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time. He remembered the first time he'd seen two men holding hands as they walked by the house, the way his own heart skipped. He didn't remember much of his living years, but he knew he was like them.

There had been any number of configurations of people that had stayed in the house when it was a hotel and he'd been glad that they clearly felt free to be themselves, for the most part. But what he was witnessing now felt different in a way he couldn't explain. Perhaps it was his personal connection to Mycroft. Perhaps Mycroft reminded him of himself.

Near Christmas, Greg moved in. Reginald watched as Mycroft took him aside and told him about how sometimes things moved and he couldn't quite explain it, but it was harmless.

"You've got a house ghost?" asked Greg with a smile.

Mycroft shifted from foot to foot. "That's the family story, anyway," he said. "Name's Reginald, apparently."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"Are you saying he's real?"

Greg shrugged. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Mycroft, then are found in your philosophies."

"Don't quote Hamlet at me," said Mycroft, leaning in to give him a kiss.

Reginald grinned and left them alone, going in to look at the Christmas tree, not noticing that he was knocking some of the ornaments akimbo.

**

It was Greg that found the attic. Technically Mycroft had known it existed, but he hadn't bothered going up himself, having been assured that there was nothing there. But one dark and stormy afternoon Greg's natural curiosity got the better of him and he pulled down the old stairs and he climbed up with a torch, Mycroft close behind him.

"Cold up here," said Greg, shining the light around. He thought for a moment that he saw something in an old mirror propped against one wall, but it was probably just a reflection.

"This house is old," answered Mycroft, carefully stepping onto the creaking floor.

"I bet you've got some real antiques up here," said Greg, looking around at the boxes and trunks.

"Quite likely. I don't know if Marie and her husband ever came up here."

"What do you say we pick a trunk, take it downstairs, and see what's in it?"

"Sure," said Mycroft, looking around the shadowed attic. He felt something akin to a nudge and walked over to a trunk. "This one."

He took one end and Greg took the other and together they carefully maneuvered it down the steps and into the living room. He and Greg shared a look as they opened it up.

**

Reginald felt a little nervous as he watched them take the trunk from the attic. He wasn't sure why that one, but it had felt right to nudge Mycroft in that direction. 

Hanging back, Reginald watched as they opened it. There was a coat on top, one that Mycroft examined for a few moments and then declared that it came from the mid-1700s. There was something familiar about it, that did nothing to quell Reginald’s anxiety. He bumped a picture on the wall and both of them glanced in his direction, though of course, neither of them could see him.

Mycroft and Greg resumed carefully removing items from the trunk. There were a few books and other accouterments of life, and near the bottom was a small box.

Glancing at Greg, Mycroft opened it up. It took him almost no time to find the false bottom and put it aside. Reginald reflected that Mycroft must be terrible to play mystery games with.

But then Mycroft pulled out a bundle of letters. If Reginald still had a heart, it would have stopped. Mycroft pulled one free from the stack and looked at it. "It's from someone named William. And addressed to Reginald."

Somewhere in Reginald's mind, he felt memories starting to stir. Things he'd long ago forgotten. But he couldn't look away from the two men holding evidence of his life in their hands.

"Is this a diary?" asked Greg, pulling out the other thing from the false bottom.

Mycroft put the letters down and opened it up, flipping through it. "Looks like it." He reached blank pages and went back until he found the last entry. "Oh no," he said quietly.

"What happened?" asked Greg.

Mycroft looked at him, then read the words aloud. "This will be my last entry. I'm sure no one will find these words; with luck they'll simply think I passed in my sleep. William is married and I know that father is planning my own wedding soon. My heart is broken and I know that as long as I am alive I will dangle like forbidden fruit, always tempting William, who needs to focus on his career and his family. So I am removing that temptation. I love you, William. If God is kind, I will see you on the other side, though as a suicide that doesn't seem likely. Still, an eternity of darkness seems better than a life without you. I am sorry and I know you will grieve, but in time you'll be able to move on. My parents have other children that can carry on the line. I am tired and I am done."

Mycroft and Greg looked at each other in silence. Reginald stared at them as memories started cascading into his mind. He turned and fled, knocking the statue in the foyer completely over in his haste to get to the attic.

As a ghost he shouldn't be able to cry. He hunched in on himself in the corner, shaking as he remembered. William. He'd loved William and William had loved him. They'd known it couldn't last and yet they'd given in to their love. One of the trunks scraped across the floor as he tried to keep himself from falling apart.

Suddenly, Mycroft and Greg were standing by the stairs. Maybe they'd heard the noise.

"Reginald," said Mycroft glancing at Greg for support. It was the first time he'd ever addressed him directly. "I'm sorry. I know it had to be hard for you. I know it was for me, at times."

Greg reached over and took his hand.

"Things are different now, for the most part," said Mycroft. Reginald watched him turn towards Greg and kiss him gently. "I was going to ask you this next week, but will you marry me, Greg?"

Greg blinked and teared up. "God, yes, of course I will."

Something shifted for Reginald. It felt like a rope snapping free. He raised his head and saw a doorway, shimmering in the darkness. A figure came into view. "Reginald? I've waited so long for you."

"William?" asked Reginald, stepping towards him, reaching out and taking his lover's hand. Everything went white and still as he passed over the threshold.

**

Mycroft stared as the attic went quiet. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft's waist and held him gently. "Do you think he's at peace?"

"I hope so," said Mycroft, leaning against him. "I have a feeling I'm not going to find any more books out of place."

"Now that we have a name and his papers, maybe we can find out more about who he was," suggested Greg.

"Maybe. For now, let's put everything back and bring it back up here."

"Alright." Greg turned to Mycroft and kissed him gently.

**

Four months later Greg and Mycroft were getting comfortable in their married life. They'd gone through some of the things in the attic, finding that they were starting to deteriorate quicker than expected. Among other things, they'd found a small portrait that Mycroft was certain was of Reginald, though there was no proof.

They hung it in pride of place in the study. Mycroft was right, things were no longer out of place or moved without explanation. But now he had Greg and the house was full of love. He hoped that wherever Reginald was now, he was with William and that he was at peace.

It was Greg that found Reginald's grave, going through the city records once they had his full name. On a rainy Saturday afternoon they went out to it with flowers. Greg put them down and leaned against Mycroft as they stood under his umbrella. "Do you think Reginald was the one who texted me that night?"

Mycroft sighed, still not entirely comfortable with proof of the unworldly. "I suppose it's possible. The phone did fall off the table."

"I think Reginald just wanted you to be happy."

Mycroft turned his head and kissed him gently. "I am. More than I ever thought I could be."

"Good. Me too." Greg took Mycroft's hand and they turned and walked away.

In the bouquet they'd left against the tombstone, a flower that had been closed unfurled itself and opened to the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to theartstudentyouhate for reading along and encouraging.


End file.
